13 July 27th–Aug 2nd, 2023 phoenixnewtimes.com phoenix new Times | cONTeNTs | feeDBacK | OPiNiON | NeWs | feaTuRe | NighT+Day | culTuRe | film | cafe | music | You can’t eat memories This is probably a bad idea. Conventional wisdom would have us believe that Durant’s is unassailable, and turning a knife on this sacred cow might as well be turning it on myself. But I suspect I’m not alone in my ambivalence, and I think there are two schools of thought that can best be summarized thusly: Are you a Stan or a Dan? Stan is Stan Barnes, a former Arizona legislator who now operates a political consulting group. “I’m just another story in the relation- ship between Durant’s and politics in Arizona,” he says. “Lobbyists took me to Durant’s for the first time. We walked in through the kitchen, which blew my mind. People around me were drinking martinis at lunchtime. I thought I had stepped into the power center of the state of Arizona.” By all accounts, he had. Like so many movers and shakers on the political scene, Barnes has spent more martini lunches at Durant’s than he can count. And while it’s gin-fueled backslapping in a historical watering hole that makes the place magical, Barnes loves to eat there as well. “The food is still as excellent as it has been over the decades,” Barnes says. Really? “Yes,” he states, with conviction. “I’m a fan. I was baptized into it over three decades ago, and fell in love, and remain in love. For the most part, I think it feels very much the same restaurant I set foot into in 1989.” Dan, on the other hand, seems less sure. Dan is Dan Maynard, an attorney who moved here from Chicago in the early ’80s and spent the bulk of the next two decades at Durant’s for many of the same reasons. “It was the place to go, and when you went there you were going to run into a who’s who of Phoenix at the time,” Maynard says. “Durant’s was far and away the nicest steakhouse. The food was really good, the service was excellent. Between spring of ’82 and September of ’83, I prob- ably ate at Durant’s a hundred times,” Maynard says. But over the years, Maynard found himself visiting less and less. And when I spoke with him, he said he couldn’t remember the last time he went. “Honestly, it was the price and the quality of the food. I don’t think the food is nearly as good as it used to be,” Maynard says. “It’s absolutely a nostalgia thing for me now. I go back occasionally, and you try to get what you had before, and it’s just not quite as good. Or your memory isn’t as good. I don’t know which one it is.” Longtime fans might disagree about the food, but I’ve yet to meet anyone who isn’t smitten with Durant’s throwback charms. Rather, the edge of the plate is where the arguments begin. For me, what makes dinner at Durant’s so maddening is that it all begins so perfectly. Usually, at least. The unsung heroes of Durant’s One recent evening, 15 minutes after my group took a seat, staff continued to stream past us, none sparing a glance. A tablemate asked if we should flag somebody down. “No,” I replied, “I want to see how long this takes.” Somewhere around the 32-minute mark, a mortified server bathed in flop sweat rushed up and apologized profusely, launching a playful game of cat and mouse as he fought all night, against my protests, to amend for the gaffe by sneaking us complimentary desserts. It was an unnecessary but appreciated gesture. The gap in coverage was an unchar- acteristic miscue, and even when they face- plant — which almost never happens — the folks at Durant’s recover with grace. Intoxicating as the room may be, I’m convinced that the bedrock of the restau- rant’s success is its ragtag collection of career servers who refuse to succumb to the scripted, plasticine standard of service in Phoenix. A bit of gentle warmth, a wry smile and a knack for knowing when to show up and when to go away is infinitely more hospitable than a peppy greeting and a 20-minute lecture about the menu. I wish more restaurants understood this. Teetotaling is a sin at Durant’s, and the more classic the tipple, the better. The martinis sparkle, but that’s to be expected. Martinis are like tofu. They taste like their surroundings. Beyond that, I’ve yet to have a bad drink at Durant’s, but as a matter of principle, I’ve yet to ask for one that was invented after 1979. Two cocktails deep, I start to wonder if the difference between the Stans and the Dans is how many drinks they put down before their dinner arrives. Bungling the basics Durant’s nails the chilled shrimp, perfectly poached and perched on a chalice brimming with ketchupy cocktail sauce that’s inartful but effective. DILEMMA I ’m not interested in writing another starry-eyed tribute to Durant’s. Don’t misunderstand, I still feel that way every time I walk through the leaded glass kitchen door. The sultry wash of dim red light, the career servers in crisp tuxedo jackets, the stiff martinis and plump chilled shrimp. I’m as awestruck by Phoenix’s beloved little time capsule as anybody. But you’ve read that story before. Dreamy ruminations on the steakhouse that time forgot are an exercise in jumbling words to retell a story that’s stale as week- old bread. Red leather booths may grow comfortable with age, but rose-tinted puff pieces tend to chafe after a while. What interests me, rather, is what we’re not saying about Durant’s. Not out loud, anyway. So, in the cantankerous spirit of Jack Durant himself, let’s speak our friggin’ minds. Bring on the tough love. It might be poor form to take shots at a 73-year-old lady, but when she looks like she could live to 146, you can only tiptoe for so long. >> p 15
